


if you knew the end, where would you begin?

by pistachio_cat



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula (Avatar)-centric, Azula Week 2020, Azula as the kickass lesbian Aunt, Azula needs a hug and therapy, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fire Nation Royal Family, Friendship, Gen, Groundhog Day, Healing, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, So does Zuko, Somewhat draws from the comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistachio_cat/pseuds/pistachio_cat
Summary: The first time Azula dies, she is fifteen.Somehow, she imagined that it would hurt more.
Relationships: Azula & Mai & Ty Lee, Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 873





	1. ad infinitum

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Auds for editing!
> 
> This work is inspired by [repeat repeat repeat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504251) and by [i will see your face again (i am sure of it)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673159).
> 
> A huge thank you to jervaal for translating this fic into [Spanish.](https://www.wattpad.com/921178420-if-you-knew-the-end-where-would-you-begin-%C2%BB-tyzula)

The first time, Azula is fifteen.

The power of Sozin’s Comet surges through her veins, and she has never felt more _alive._ She and her father are the most powerful firebenders who have ever lived. Together, they are an unstoppable force.

The world blazes red and orange beneath them. Ozai laughs, and she laughs with him.

The Avatar arrives. They are expecting him.

Azula does not expect his raw power, his unbridled wrath. His eyes burn white.

She sees the shards of earth hurtling towards her father and leaps. Fire roars at her fingertips, but it is too late, it is not enough—

Somehow, she always imagined that dying would hurt more.

* * *

(It is a selfless act that sends her back in time, that catalyzes the repeated cycle of her life.)

* * *

She wakes with the sunrise. She wakes with breath in her lungs, whole and untouched by jagged stones. She wakes in the body of a child.

(She was not a child at fifteen. She was a beloved princess, a national hero, a conqueror, and her father’s right hand.)

In a daze, she presses a penknife to her palm and bleeds. Spirits don’t bleed. Her mother sees the bandaged wound and demands to know what happened. Azula scowls and pulls away from the traitorous woman’s touch. For a moment, hurt and confusion flickers in Ursa’s golden eyes before it is extinguished, a brief candle.

* * *

She wonders whose rules she is playing by. Everything is as she remembers it.

She remembers her father staring death in the face, and her blood runs cold. She wonders if this time around, events will remain the same.

There is only one way to find out.

* * *

She does not know what will happen when she dies a second time, whether she will be sent back in time again. As a result, each choice she makes is calculated, purposeful. Each hour must be spent prudently and efficiently.

She does her best to recall the actions of her past self, but it is difficult. There is no way to know which of her choices matter and which do not.

She does not know if any of them matter.

* * *

The question is: _how did their carefully laid plans fail?_ The sooner she figures out the answer, the sooner she can dispose of the problematic elements.

When her father ascends the throne and gives his coronation speech, everything falls into place. Last time, they underestimated the Avatar. She will not make the same mistake this time.

When he re-appears, she is ready for the chase. They track him to Ba Sing Se. Her firebending is much improved this time around. She is not alone; her imperial guards flank her, lending her their strength and wordlessly declaring her legitimacy and power.

But the Avatar is not alone, either. Contempt seethes in the pit of her stomach at the incompetence of her guard, at the ugly faces of the Avatar’s peasant companions. She pursues him single-mindedly through crystal-lit caverns. She does not see the trap, the men lying in wait until it is too late.

Fury and panic flood her veins—what if she does not come back? She refuses to die like this, tricked by a child and outnumbered by brutes. Flames pour from her mouth and her nails claw at the raw earth until they are broken, cracked, bleeding. And then her flame is smothered as she gags on the dirt filling her nose and throat.

(In her next reiteration, she will learn that they are the Dai Li, Kyoshi’s legacy. A ruthless police force, created by a ruthless Avatar—even when surrounded, Azula can respect the cold pragmatism.

In her next reiteration, she will wake with the sunrise, in the body of a child, choking on the cloying scent of earth in her nostrils.)

* * *

As difficult as it is, Azula comes to accept that she simply was not strong enough. If she is to help her father conquer the world and rule by his side, she must purge herself of every weakness. She studies countless scrolls in the Dragonbone Catacombs, many of them seized from the air temples and other nations. She interrogates the Fire Sages for hours on end, seeking knowledge about the Avatar and his weaknesses, about how to counter and defeat every bending style.

Lo and Li do not _train_ her as much as she demands to be taught all the secrets that she knows that they withhold from her. From their wizened perches, they see her as a child. She seethes with disdain and determination beyond her years. She strives for nothing less than perfection.

_More_ , she demands after every fallen sparring opponent. _Let me fight earthbenders and waterbenders. The prisoners._ Lo and Li concede.

_If they win,_ she jokes one day, _they can go free_. Her mother frowns openly and her father’s lips twitch upwards, the motion imperceptible to everyone but Azula.

He knows she would never let them win.

* * *

Ty Lee, pretty in pink, is a familiar constant. Her bright smiles, cheerful laughter, and endless cartwheels break the monotony of palace days. She is fun to play with and not as dumb as she first seemed, Azula realizes. She tests how many times she can push Ty Lee down into the turtleduck pond before the girl cries, how many superfluous compliments she can draw out from the girl’s lips, how many times in a day she can make Ty Lee laugh— _really_ laugh, in that twinkling way where her grey eyes light up.

Two, seventeen, and eight, respectively. Azula will work on improving those numbers. She can always do better.

Ty Lee teaches her how to cartwheel and do a backflip for the third time that Azula can remember, then begs Azula to show her a firebending dance— _one, just one …pleeease!? You’re the most talented firebender in the world!_ The look on Ty Lee’s face is so innocent and earnest as she slips her hands in Azula’s and beams up at the princess.

In some ways, Azula is old beyond her years, but in others, she is still a child. Azula feels the juvenile urge to impress Ty Lee, so she obliges. Her chest swells with pride at the awe sparkling in Ty Lee’s eyes as she settles into the familiar fluid motions, fire bursting from her fingertips.

She finishes with an improvisation, a rolling kickflip inspired by what Ty Lee has taught her. Her lithe body flies through the air, thrumming with power, and her foot hisses with heat as it slices through the air.

(It is in front of Ty Lee that Azula first summons blue flame.)

* * *

Father smiles every time he learns that she can summon blue fire. On rare occasions, he openly praises her.

Zuko is always jealous. Even if he doesn’t say it in words, it easy to deduce from his hunched posture. Mother always frowns.

But if she can help it, Azula always tries to bend her first blue flame in front of Ty Lee. Strangely, even when other details of her life have long since become tedious, she never tires of hearing Ty Lee’s gasp of amazement and admiration.

_You’re the most talented firebender in the world!_

* * *

_She’s crazy and she needs to go down._

(It is the first time she hears Uncle say those words. She immediately resents him for it. In time, she will come to loathe his weakness, his airheaded proverbs, his fat face, his fondness for tea.)

The Avatar hesitates. The conflict is written so plainly in the crease of his brow. As if from underwater, she hears Ty Lee sobbing.

She has failed to protect Ty Lee.

Azula thrashes against the stone locking her torso in place. Earth. It is always earth.

_She cannot be reasoned with! We do not have time. Ozai already marches on the Northern Tribes._

She should be powerful enough, she should be by her father’s side, she should be with him. She would be by his side, but she has failed him in the task of protecting their nation and homeland.

_I’m sorry_.

The Avatar’s eyes begin to glow.

The air is forced from her lungs.

* * *

The edges of her life begin to blur together. Some days, she wakes feeling like an Ember Island Player, reciting lines from rote memory, doomed to tread the paths that all invariably lead to death that ends with a sunrise. Some days, Azula only truly feels alive when she feels the roar of chi and fire pulsing through her while she bends.

Azula wonders if these reiterations will end, or if her destiny is to remain trapped in this never-ending cycle, ad infinitum until she goes mad.

With a scowl, she brushes off the uncertainty. She is the crown princess, and she will make destiny bow to her will if she has to.

* * *

There are some rules, she finds, that cannot be broken, no matter how hard she tries or how many times she lives her life on repeat:

  1. Lu Ten always dies.



  1. Mother always disappears.



  1. Father always burns Zuko.



  1. The Avatar always returns.



  1. She never lives past fifteen.



* * *

_Teach me to be graceful, Ty Lee._

_But you’re already the most graceful girl in the world, ‘Zula!_

The soon-to-be acrobat is lying. Ty Lee _is_ more graceful than Azula, though not by much. That is why the princess must learn from her. She lives her life as a child, a preteen, an adolescent (sometimes, she lives long enough that she is almost a _woman_ ). She is a girl and that comes with a disadvantage in raw strength. But she can compensate by incorporating agility and grace in her arsenal.

Ty Lee spends every summer afternoon in the palace, stays until the shadows have lengthened and the sky burns orange and red. Her laughter floats down the hallways and drifts out into the courtyard, and her smiles are so radiant that they are blinding. She shows Azula how to stretch her muscles until they burn, how to somersault through the air, how to twist and pivot impossibly fast.

Ty Lee is a gentle teacher; Azula is the one who is always pushing, pushing to learn harder techniques faster.

She wants to push in other ways, too. They are twelve, and she finds herself aching to do _something_ about the knots that tangle in her stomach every time she sees Ty Lee. It messes with her breathing and thus, her bending.

But as quickly as it began, the summer ends. And the grey-eyed girl who trained to be a spy at the Academy abandons it all, defies her parents and her princess to flit away and pursue a circus calling.

Azula expects it by now, yet she still does not know how to make the knots go away.

* * *

This is how Azula will bend destiny to her will: she will find the Avatar before he has a chance to gain allies and power, and she will kill him in the Avatar state. By ending the Avatar cycle, she will end whatever twisted cycle she is caught in.

Tracking the Avatar’s beginnings is a complex matter. Where does one begin to uncover the mysteries of a being lost for a hundred years?

The water peasants. She starts with that small kernel of knowledge and tracks the winding trail backward. The task takes three repeats to accomplish.

(Or maybe it’s four. She loses count.)

But at last, she finds the answer: an iceberg at the cold and unforgiving south pole.

* * *

Zuzu and Uncle are the only obstacles between her and her prize. The icy wind whips wildly around them. She scowls in frustration; every single precious moment she wastes on these outcasts is another moment for those filthy water peasants to snatch away the Avatar.

Uncle is a quitter, a loser, a fuddy-duddy old fatso.

He is the Dragon of the West.

There is pity intermixed with sorrow in his eyes, and she hates it. Azula is not something to pity or mourn.

(No one mourns monsters.)

Uncle’s arms finish their sweeping arc; his pointed fingers thrust outwards. The acrid stench of cooked flesh fills the air.

* * *

_Teach me, Father._

She kowtows before him, pressing her forehead to the marble floor, so cold despite the flames that encompass the throne.

His hand clamps down on her shoulder, broad and heavy.

_Though accomplished, you are still young. Perfect the final forms, and then I will instruct you._

Azula bites back the sharp words and swallows her disappointment because deep down she knows that she has asked before she is ready. She lacks patience—re-learning and mastering firebending with each new turn of the cycle has proven… frustrating. It is difficult to wake without blue flames and mastery of the advanced forms. Nevertheless, she will purge the flaw of impatience from herself; it is this immaturity that has disappointed her father more than anything.

She vows never to disappoint him again.

* * *

Mai is so wonderfully apathetic. This time, it is a refreshing change of pace from the blabbering about honor and destiny and her own difficult reality.

Mai always looks at her with a cool evenness, resigned to being subject to Azula’s whims and not caring either way. Azula relishes the power that Mai’s companionship offers.

She takes particular gratification in goading Mai’s buried emotions to the surface. The easiest way, she finds, is through the girl’s schoolyard crush on Zuzu. She and Ty Lee giggle behind their palms every time that Azula engineers a Mai-Zuko intersection. Even after so many lives, nothing can top the hotcake incident.

_Zuzu_ _loves knives and swords._ She singsongs in secret. And Mai makes the steel sing so beautifully that they both forget who it was meant for. It is a song composed for Zuko, coveted by Azula, and it is Mai’s to control.

As she soldiers through the cycles, Azula comes to think it is hers to control because Mai knives sing at the princess’ behest.

(Azula miscalculates.)

* * *

_Your mother feared me, so she killed your grandfather. Fear is the only reliable way to control others and achieve your ambitions._

It is always one of her father’s earliest lessons, taught by demonstration. People do not meet her father’s eyes. They bow before him as if before a God. His power and will are absolute. Fear incites obedience. Instilling fear comes as naturally as breathing to her.

No one can hurt you when they fear you.

* * *

There is nothing but emptiness within her.

It is not a difficult state to achieve.

Azula has prized apart yin and yang— order and chaos, day and night, woman and man— and with the sweep of her arms, she crashes them together.

Power like she has never known surges through every nerve, and she is not its humble but rather its _defiant_ guide. Fate and the cycles will bow to her will, just as the cold-blooded lightning willfully surges from the path she makes with her fingers.

Her father’s lips twist in a smile, and warmth fills her chest.

* * *

She scowls and hurtles hard bread at the turtleducks. It is a bad day. Who is Mai, to speak to her like that? Why does her father not trust her to sit in the war room? She is only ten, but she understands when to be quiet and has sharp eyes, keen ears, and a quick mind. How is she supposed to _learn_ and plan what to do this time around if he refuses to see her potential?

_Young lady, what is wrong with you? We don’t do such things here._

Ursa grabs the thin bones of her wrist mid-throw. Azula tries to struggle free, but her mother is stronger, so she stills, knowing that will earn her release.

_I was just practicing my aim_. Lying comes easy to her.

(She has had a long time to practice.)

Her mother sits down next to her, gracefully smoothing her robes. Her lips form a thin line.

_There are other ways to practice, Azula. There’s no need to be cruel. And if you’re gentle, the turtleducks will eat from your hands. See?_ One of the babies hesitantly takes a piece of bread from Ursa’s palm.

Then it bites Azula’s finger, and she yelps in indignation.

* * *

The last time Azula attempts the iceberg gambit, she is the most prepared she has ever been. Lightning sparks on her fingertips. On her left and right are Mai and Ty Lee, respectively. She has imperial firebenders and a crew of men behind her.

It is all going terribly well until it goes horribly wrong.

She is dueling Iroh and oh, how her blood _sings_ , how _alive_ she feels! She is _ready_ for his tricks.

When the acrid sparks dance at Uncle’s fingertips, she is too close to dodge, forcing her to absorb the energy and channel it.

Azula screams.

The electricity tears through her being from one tip of her wingspan out the other, and something is wrong, so wrong, because her heart forgets how to beat. Smoke curls from her body, and dimly, she hears screaming.

(Azula does not have Iroh to teach her that lightning should flow down through the stomach to avoid the heart.)

She had aimed to redirect lightning at the sky but failed. Instead, it hit the one person it shouldn’t.

She staggers to her feet as she realizes the magnitude of her mistake.

Iroh will always try to stop her from capturing the Avatar at the South Pole.

(There are always casualties in war.)

The force of the blast has knocked Ty Lee into the choppy, frigid waters. _There’s no way she’s not dead._ She never thought it possible to hear such emotion in Mai’s voice.

Without a second thought, Azula throws her smoking, half-dead body into the icy water. She thrashes against the thickness of the icy water, groping wildly. There is a flash of pink and she kicks harder.

Her hands connect with the fabric of Ty Lee’s uniform, and Azula hooks her arms underneath the girl’s armpits. Sunlight filters down from the surface in an oddly beautiful way as they sink. Azula is so tired and her body is so weak. Her lungs burn and scream for air.

She opens her mouth and breathes in.

* * *

She hopes to never see the South Pole again, for as many times as she lives.

* * *

_It’s simple_ , she tells Zuzu, the certainty in her voice tinged with spite. _Uncle and Lu Ten will never take the throne. Father is meant to be Fire Lord._

And she is meant to be by his side.

_Azula!_ Ursa’s mouth is twisted in shock and horror. _We do_ not _speak in that way!_

Azula shrugs and ducks to avoid Ursa reaching out to pull her ear. Unlike her mother, she knows Lu Ten will be dead within the next 600 days.

* * *

She can’t stand to watch her brother’s cowardice for the _nth_ time. It sickens her, the way he cowers and begs for mercy from a man who knows only ruthless strength.

_Fight back, Zuzu!_

(She will pay for that remark later. Not for what she spoke, but for how she spoke. Out of turn. As if she were rooting for Zuko.)

The arena erupts in fire. Zuko fights for his life, his honor. For the first time in this cycle, Zuko listens to her.

And he pays for it.

He falls, a wounded animal howling. Bubbling, blistering skin covers three-quarters of his face and stretches down his neck and torso. She is unable to tear her gaze away.

She never makes the same mistake twice.

* * *

They call her a prodigy.

It’s not so hard when you have lived as many times as she has.

* * *

The truth is—Zuko is weak. He takes after Uncle: firstborn, heir to the throne, overly sentimental.

The lie Azula tells herself is—she is strong. She takes after Father: clawing their way to the throne because they were born too late, overly ambitious.

(It is another cycle she cannot break.)

She smiles cruelly at the wretched irony of it all. 

* * *

_The truth is, I’m really happy here. I have a boyfriend and everything! My aura is the brightest it’s ever been._

An ugly, indignant rage boils in the pit of Azula’s stomach. Azula is the Crown Princess, and Ty Lee her subject. How dare she shirk her duty and refuse Azula? What is this _nonsense_ about a boyfriend?

She leaves Ty Lee behind only when she is satisfied with the damage done. Truly, a shame about the setback in the entertainment industry.

Princess Azula does not need a girl who lacks loyalty. Next time, she redoubles her efforts to instill loyalty in Ty Lee through fear— and succeeds.

* * *

Ursa runs the gold and ivory comb through Azula’s wet hair, her hands warm and gentle. If Azula sits preternaturally still for a child, the woman does not comment. Still, for some inexplicable reason, Azula finds herself leaning back into her mother’s touch.

_You have such beautiful hair._

Her mother never compliments her firebending, not as she does with Zuzu’s. Azula has come to accept it. Her mother is soft and weak, and she resolved to abandon such things long ago.

Lo and Li say she has her mother’s hair. But everything else she is and has is because of her father. He is the only one who shares her ambitions.

(He is the only one who has never left her.)

* * *

Azula isn’t sure why she even bothers to offer. Deep down, she knows; he is the one who could come closest to understanding her. Over countless repeated lifetimes, he never finds what he is seeking.

(Zuzu doesn’t know exactly what he is seeking. Deep down, neither does she.)

_Come home. You can redeem yourself. You can restore your own honor._

Her brother glances at the water peasant beside him, the one who cannot bend, who overcompensates with his metal boomerang, who is silently pleading with Zuko to _stay_. A moment passes. There is a tenderness and then a steely grit in the prince’s eyes.

She knows she has lost him before he even says the words.

_Your idea of honor is an empty promise. You are a liar._

She scoffs in disdain and disappointment because what does he know? She only lies when the truth does not suit her.

* * *

They travel across the Earth Kingdom on mongoose lizards. Her eyes sting from the wind and her hips are sore by midday, but she relishes the physical sensations. This period of this life becomes, in a way, a comforting pattern. But Azula won’t let it be a complacent one; she pushes her companions as long as she can, and they only stop when the sun rests on the horizon.

Mai and Ty Lee set up their shelter while she breathes life into the fire. The earth is hard beneath their bedrolls. Once, and only once, she dreams that it rises up to swallow her (—she is trapped, immobile in the dark, dirt in her lungs—) and she wakes in a cold sweat. Ty Lee takes to sleeping next to Azula after that. Mai is watchful, observant, and silent.

_(Capture the Avatar._ She is the one he entrusts with the task. She will not fail like Zuko.)

They always wake with the sunrise to follow the tufts of sky bison hair that flutter in the breeze like dandelion fluff. Sometimes, their childish little schemes do amuse her. As if she wouldn’t notice that the creature was flying faster, as if his burden had been lessened.

_Capture the sky bison and the water peasants. The Avatar is mine._

_Be careful, ‘Zula. If anyone can do it, it’s you!_ The acrobat presses a chaste kiss to the princess’ lips. Dry amusement sparkles in Mai’s eyes. Color floods Azula’s cheeks as she turns away. They are wasting precious time.

Still, she can’t help but glance back at her companions.

* * *

_The Avatar is just a child_.

She smooths her features into a facsimile of deference, repressing a disdainful sneer. The generals are old fools, but she will not follow Zuko’s brazen mistakes.

_You are correct, but that is no reason to underestimate his power. Was I not a child, once?_

Her heart stutters but her voice never wavers. Father, shrouded in flames, nods in agreement and approval.

* * *

The worst deaths are when she is a child. Her body is still small and weak, and her flames have not yet turned blue. No matter how hard she fights and struggles, she is inevitably overpowered.

(They usually kill Zuko before they can take her down, and there is Ursa, cradling his body to her chest and Azula screams, flame tearing itself from her throat.)

* * *

Each day brings them closer to Sozin’s Comet, and Crown Princess Azula can feel the thrum of its power singing in her veins.

This time, she will break free of the cycle of death and rebirth—she can feel it in her bones. She has played her cards perfectly. Ty Lee is at her side. She has eyes and ears in Shu Jing, where Iroh is boxed in with Piandao. Zuko is with the Avatar, and while she does not trust him to be competent, she knows Mai is, and will keep him in check.

Father values her as his trusted right hand; he has listened to her war strategies, sent her to conquer Ba Sing Se, and will implement her plan to burn any Earth Kingdom resistance to ashes.

When he calls her to the throne room, she has to still herself from trembling with excitement and triumph. She kneels before the Fire Lord, destined to conquer the four nations, and waits patiently but eagerly for him to speak.

_You are truly a prodigy. Succeeding where even the Dragon of the West failed._

Pride bellows like a flame in her chest and stomach. After all her suffering, the countless burns and bruises, the countless losses and deaths—gratification is in her grasp and victory will soon follow. She will conquer the world with Father and will one day continue his legacy to make it her own and become the greatest Fire Lord her nation has ever known.

_And yet…_

Her breath catches.

(She has miscalculated. In another lifetime, maybe she will peel back her own lies and glimpse the truth: her father does not love or care for her. He fears her.)

_You cling to that which makes you weak._

She has given everything up for her goals, again and again. Her mother. Her brother. Her companions. Her life.

_The girl._

Crown Princess Azula bites her tongue and tastes metal.

If she truly desires to rule, then she must sever her last attachment to foolish fantasies of affection. Ty Lee cannot provide her heirs. Taking a mistress creates an exploitable vulnerability.

As Azulon ordered Ozai to prove his loyalty, so Ozai orders her. It is a Royal Legacy.

_It is what I had to do to your mother. She was too dangerous to be left alive._

Her focus and determination must be perfectly and wholly single-minded. Her attachment, her childish infatuation has distracted her from where her true dedication and loyalty should lie.

_You must destroy your weakness before you can follow me._

* * *

Azula sits stiffly in front of her vanity. Ty Lee stands behind her, playing with Azula’s hair, the way she always does before styling the Princess’ iconic topknot. Though the acrobat veils herself behind a ditzy and scatterbrained façade, after all these lifetimes Azula knows better. Ty Lee’s trembling fingers betray her understanding that something has gone wrong during the Crown Princess’ meeting with the Fire Lord, as well as her fear of finding out the sordid details.

Her father’s ultimatum festers in her chest, a rotten and putrid thing that seems to suck the air from the room. The sensation of Ty Lee’s fingertips on her scalp, once soothing, now burns. They are alone. The guards know better than to disturb her while she is with Ty Lee. It would be quick. Trivial. Painless, even. A bolt of lightning, when strong enough and aimed true, could end everything in mere seconds. (Executed improperly, her body remembers, lightning causes great pain before it kills.) Azula lets her hands fall limply into her lap.

Ty Lee presses a tender kiss to the crown of her head. It is both an admission of trust and a gentle invitation to speak. Azula takes a shuddering breath.

_He ordered me to kill you._

Ty Lee’s fingers go still.

_Oh._

Her fingertips resume their gentle motion against Azula’s scalp. As if she anticipates Azula’s choice before Azula has even decided.

The princess closes her eyes. Her throat burns.

(Long, long ago there are two girls in a garden. One with a braid, the other with a topknot. The peals of their laughter ring out into the hot, summer afternoon. Their palms and knuckles scrape raw as they climb the cherry trees. They pluck the fruit, juice staining their fingers and cheeks, and spit the pits at unsuspecting servants. One girl shoves the other into the pond, then wades in herself, drawn in by giggles and a smile. The girl with the braid teaches the other how to coo at the turtleducks and pet their soft fur.

_One day, I am going to be Fire Lord. And—_ she flushes triumphantly— _you will be fire lady._ )

The memory sinks back down into the mire of a life lived again and again.

She opens her eyes and meets Ty Lee’s in the mirror. They are the color of the sky before the rain. Her own eyes flash like liquid lightning. Weakness and selfishness gnaw at her bones. When she speaks, her voice is level and even.

_You will leave this place, Ty Lee. You will leave me behind and never return._

Her decision is made and just like that, her mind kicks into gear and her body moves as if by rote memory. She is the Crown Princess and has contacts and resources. She finds a brush and parchment and writes more sloppily than she ever has before because Ty Lee’s life depends on it.

(Ty Lee is radiant as she performs for Azula seemingly effortlessly, somersaulting through the air on the trapeze and balancing tiptoe on the tightrope. This time, when Azula orders her to follow her princess, Ty Lee obeys. Azula prays to Agni that Ty Lee will obey her again.)

* * *

The die of destiny has been cast. The certainty Azula felt mere days ago about breaking free of her relived life is cast in shadow, but she soldiers onwards. She _must_ be so close to victory. Her muscles ache from the constant tension.

The Fire Lord demands her presence on the eve of the Comet’s arrival. She kneels before him, head bowed low. The fire in the throne room shimmers a cold orange.

_Father—Fire Lord Ozai, I am your humble servant, here to serve you and our nation._

Slowly, he rises. His figure cuts an impressive silhouette against the backdrop of flames. A bead of sweat condenses on her brow.

_I expect lies, treachery, and disobedience from Zuko, not you, Azula._

Something dark twists in her gut (not fear, because she _instills_ fear and no longer experiences it) because she has lived long enough to know what comes next.

(She is sinking into watery darkness, her body weak and broken and her arms hooked under Ty Lee’s—)

He throws a familiar braid tied with pink ribbon down on the ground in front of her, his lips twisted in a disgusted sneer. His fingers twitch, and he uses them to smooth down his robe, his pleasure in personally revealing Azula’s treachery at odds with his affront at having to touch something he deems so filthy.

( _She pulls on your hair because she likes you._ Even as a child, Mai is the most insufferable when she is right. Azula merely scoffs, not wanting to dignify her with a real response. Besides, over-protesting would only strengthen Mai’s claim.

_Oh!_ In a turn of events rarer than Sozin’s Comet, Ty Lee becomes bashful. _Well, I like you too, ‘Zula_. Hesitatingly, she slips her hand in Azula’s. The Princess does not pull away.)

* * *

There is fire, and then there is darkness.

(It is a selfless act that catalyzes the repeated cycles of her life.

It is a selfish act that brings the repeated cycles of her life to an end.)

* * *

She wakes in the body of a child, not with the sunrise but under the moonlight. And instinctually, she knows that the rules have shifted.

(She will discover small details that she has yet to encounter, even after living this lifetime and time again.

Grandfather will die when she is only ten.

Azula will be there when her mother murders him.

Sozin’s Comet will pass over when Azula is fourteen, not fifteen. Usually, there is some minimal variation in its timing, but this is the first time the deviation has been so drastic.)

Everything is catalyzed, moving faster than typical. And instinctually, ever the prodigy, Azula understands.

When she dies this time, there will be no sunrise to greet her.


	2. the ties that bind

Azula _wants,_ even after all this time. The want burns her very being, chars the edges of her skin into papery ash.

(She wants to live past fifteen.)

Her goals are within reach. After lifetimes of observations, she understands people. They are all base creatures, tied to the wills of those greater than them like marionettes. And she knows how to pull their strings.

Ursa seeks to protect Zuko. Zuko seeks approval he will never earn. Iroh seeks to protect the world’s soft and weak. Mai seeks to escape from the tyranny of boredom and her family. Ty Lee seeks recognition and adoration.

(She never questions what her father seeks.)

There is no margin for error. Almost isn’t good enough. Only perfection will suffice.

Last time, Father taught her his final, most important lesson by removing her ultimate weakness by force.

(Fire Lord Ozai has always taught his children by force.)

It is as if her eyes have truly opened, and she now sees with clarity. She must cast off all her wanton desires, and in doing so, she will have the power to shape and fulfill her destiny. First, as her father’s right hand in conquering the world, then as the most legendary and beloved Fire Lord history has ever known. Her failure to cast off her final attachment to the girl, pretty in pink, has held her back, all these countless cycles.

She cuts the thread.

* * *

She can’t have him falling in love with one of the water peasants again, and she can’t have Mai refusing to join her when push comes to shove. So Azula pouts and pleads, appealing to her mother’s soft sentiments about _family_. She sets the apple on Mai’s head, squints to aim, and shoots. Her aim is sure and true. Ever the unthinking hero, Zuzu knocks Mai into the fountain, and they are both emerge waterlogged and furiously blushing.

Ty Lee giggles behind her hand, stealing a glance at the Princess. Azula thinks maybe they should play circus ringmaster next. Mai can practice throwing darts at a cartwheeling Ty Lee.

_You two are so, ugh._

Mai has not yet ascended to the state of being perpetually emotionless, so Azula relishes the fluster and indignation in her voice.

_Set Ty Lee’s hair on fire and push_ her _into the fountain next time._

Ty Lee clutches her braid protectively. The charred apple bobs forlornly in the fountain.

* * *

_Farewell, Uncle. Farewell, Cousin._ A snide, knowing smile paints her face. It makes her look older than any eight-year-old should.

* * *

_Welcome back, Uncle._ A triumphant smile paints her face. She will succeed where he failed.

( _A real general would stay and burn Ba Sing Se to the ground._ )

Uncle could not give up Lu Ten, and so he gives up. It is just as her father said.

* * *

When Azula pulls Zuko behind the curtain, it is because she needs him to _see_ the ambition that sets everything in motion. She needs him scared and uncertain.

It works, just as she planned. He cowers and protests just loud and long enough for Ursa to come running. And when she demands to know what Azula saw, Azula tells her in her most matter-of-fact voice, the one that makes adults pause and really _look_ at her. Her mother recoils, blood draining from her face.

( _What is wrong with that child?_ )

When Ursa returns from speaking with Ozai, she kneels to look Azula in the eyes and encircles her daughter’s wrists between her thumbs and forefingers.

_Your grandfather and father wanted to see you demonstrate your latest set again. You told me you had something special to show them, didn’t you, Azula?_

Azula smiles wide. The gentle, steady tone of Ursa’s voice belies the urgency in her movements.

Grandfather very rarely takes visitors this late. But just this once, for his prodigy of a granddaughter, named so sycophantically after him, Fire Lord Azulon will make an exception. Considering recent developments, one day his granddaughter may very well take the throne.

Her father kneels, face impassive. If Azula had not stayed behind the curtains and witnessed Azulon’s anger, she would’ve had no idea that her father is in pain. Her mother is preparing tea. From the scent, Azula knows it is ginseng. Grandfather’s favorite.

Grandfather watches her, his eyes flat and unreadable. He is a fool. He takes the cup of tea from Ursa without so much as a glance, waving a hand as if he is bothered, not thankful. Ursa takes a seat and pretends to sip from her cup.

Azula moves through the kata with ease. She has performed it thousands of times before. Forward stance with two fireball fists, transition to twisting tiger monkey with a sweep of fire, pivot into a series of precise lunges and kicks, finish with rising dragon, palms outstretched and mouth spewing pure, blue fire.

She is breathing heavily with the exertion. A single strand of hair has come loose from her topknot.

Grandfather opens his mouth, most likely to offer a stinging critique, and slumps over. The teacup crashes to the ground as Azula bows, finishing the set.

* * *

In the past, she might have appealed to infatuation. Or whatever it was that had so often bloomed between them on summer afternoons.

( _I need you with me, Ty Lee._ )

Instead, she appeals to honor and duty. And when that doesn’t work, she sighs and remembers father’s words.

One burnt net and one animal stampede generate more than enough terror to accomplish her goal.

* * *

The rebels cling to a narrative that requires them to appear humane. They are thus much too squeamish to hurt a toddler. Besides, the Avatar is a child himself and would not let any harm come to Tom-Tom. She tells Mai this in a curt tone.

Unlike Ty Lee, Mai is a logical girl who bows to reason and does not pretend that Azula’s requests are anything but demands.

* * *

They are a half day’s journey away from Ba Sing Se. If Azula squints, she can see the glint of the broken drill reflecting the dying sunlight. Instinctively, she rubs the mostly healed bruises on her abdomen. An unfortunate and unforeseen setback. But she knows the Fire Lord’s rage and disappointment will soon transform into pride and satisfaction. Her new plan is simple, exquisite, and have thus far proceeded without a hitch.

(She remembers, dimly, her last vision of dark green robes and wide-brimmed hats. Of earth, crushing her throat closed.

They will bow to her, soon.)

She enters their tent and finds Ty Lee in the middle of a stretching routine. She shoots Azula a dazzling smile. Azula clears her throat and turns away, forcing her mind to think about strategy. The runaway acrobat’s espionage skills will be invaluable. Her chi-blocking is unrivaled.

Ty Lee, sensing her anxiety and taking her silence as encouragement, babbles about how excited she is to dress up and see the city, how brilliant and perfect Azula’s plan is—

Azula silences her with an entirely tactical kiss devoid of any emotional attachment whatsoever.

_You talk too much._ Is all she trusts herself to say when they break apart.

* * *

Underneath Ba Sing Se, Azula finds Zuko with only Uncle by his side and immediately knows what he will choose. The threads she has woven hold him taut.

Still, she sticks to the script and presents Zuko with the illusion of choice. Perhaps the elation of victory being so close has made her generous.

_You’re not a traitor, are you?_

(Not this time, anyway.)

_I need you, Zuko. I’ve plotted every move of this day, this glorious day in Fire Nation history, and the only way we win is together._

She tells the truth when lies do not serve a function.

(Zuko’s broken body looks even smaller in Ursa’s arms. Zuko rises to fight their father, fire in his eyes and palms. Zuko’s face is twisted with rage in the South Pole, desperate to return home and earn Ozai’s approval.

He is the only other person who understands the price of being Ozai’s child.)

* * *

The Avatar rises like a shining beacon. The light from his body reflects off the crystals and fills the caverns with an otherworldly light.

(A guru once said: _the only way is to let her go._

A Fire Lord once said: _you cling to that which makes you weak._ )

Everyone freezes in awe at the sheer power radiating from the Avatar, but Azula has experienced it before, has been on its receiving end.

She has no intention of repeating the experience.

She points her fingers, aims, and lets the lightning free.

It is as simple as shooting the apple on Mai’s head.

The smells of ozone and burning flesh mix. The boy’s smoking body contorts with shock and pain, then plummets as if in slow motion, like a puppet cut from its moorings.

The thrill of victory after so many relived years rushes courses through her veins. Her path forward is clearer than it has ever been.

She can’t wait to turn sixteen.

* * *

Azula isn’t surprised when Zuko lies to her. The lie itself is easy to pick out because Zuko’s tells have always been so glaringly obvious. The tension in his shoulders alone is enough to give anyone awful knots.

Intuition tells her that the Avatar most likely lives. In all the times she’s relived the sequence of events known as her life, his death has never been confirmed. Zuko’s clear discomfort means there is an element at play that he hasn’t told her about. Besides, because of Uncle’s treachery, the water peasant managed to escape, and several lifetimes ago, Azula read scrolls about a waterbender’s potential healing power.

Still, Zuko lies to her ( _betrays_ her), and displeasure twists her insides. She understands why, of course—he correctly believes the Avatar’s death is a necessary condition to restore his honor—but still. His failure to trust her has put Azula in an uncomfortable position. She must give him an imperative to properly deal with the situation.

(The marble is cold and hard beneath her as she kneels before her father. Her breath does not catch; her heart does not race.)

_By Zuko’s hand, the Avatar is no more._

* * *

The firelight illuminates their faces and imparts an eerie glow on the endless waves lapping at the shore.

_Who are you angry at?_

_Father? Uncle? Me?_

_Myself._

The fire rages, hot enough to turn sand into glass.

_(What are you afraid of?_

_Failure? Loss? Rejection?_

_Myself.)_

* * *

She derives an undeniable amount of satisfaction from trashing Chan’s house. The sheer panic and horror on the partygoers’ faces are almost worth the humiliation of being sent on a forced vacation. With particular relish, she sends Ty Lee’s harassers running with their heels smoking and their tails tucked between their legs. She hasn’t had this much childish, destructive fun in ages.

Maybe Azula was a child, once upon a time. If she was, she cannot remember. The memories are locked behind a sunrise. She balks at the idea of ever being a typical teenager.

She is destined for greater things.

* * *

Her face smashes against the marble. She tastes bitter copper in her mouth. He has never been this furious with her before. This time, he does not care if he leaves bruises and burns in places others will see.

_First, failure, treachery, and disobedience from Zuko. And now, from you, Azula._

She cannot open her mouth to speak while her jaw is being ground into the floor. She is his loyal daughter. She had her reasons to tell him Zuko killed the Avatar. She has never let a failure remain unaddressed.

She has killed Zuko before. She should have done it again.

When he permits her to rise, she swallows every excuse. There is no honor and appeasement in empty words. Only actions will suffice now.

It is Mai and Ty Lee, not the nosy and worthless servants, who guide her back to her quarters, draw a bath, and undress her. They do not comment on the blood drying on her lip, nor on the forming bruises that ring her wrists, nor on the burns covering the shining skin of her back.

* * *

It is Mai, then Ty Lee, who signals the beginning of the end by severing the cords of their loyalty. Azula feels the same fury that her father surely felt towards her. It burns and twists in her stomach, but there is no outlet for her fiery rage because Ty Lee, that _whore_ , has chosen Mai and Zuko over her.

_Let them_ rot _._

( _Kill them_. _Expunge your weakness._ )

When the rage bleeds into a simmer, she finds that she is so very tired. She is tired of the sunrise. Still, time and destiny march on. But she is Princess Azula, heir to the throne, a prodigy. She has a role to fulfill, and not all is yet lost. With Father, she will burn the Earth Kingdom to ashes. They will suffer as she has.

_Take away their hope. Burn their kingdom to the ground._

* * *

But even that dream is taken from her, vanishing in tendrils of smoke. He rebukes her again, like a child, like she is _Zuko_. Weak, useless, a traitor.

For so long, she has shaped herself in his image. Defined herself through his goals. Suddenly, it is all stripped bare and she is left gasping and reeling, the breath knocked from her lungs.

But he needs her here, to protect the nation. She clings to his words like a lifeline. Her laughs echo down the palace corridors.

(The Fire Lord knows how to pull her strings and mixes the truth with lies so that Azula cannot discern the difference.)

* * *

She is not wrong, because she is never wrong. Every choice she’s made thus far has been calculated. Trust is for fools and fear is the only reliable way. Fear has earned her Mai and Ty Lee’s loyalty lifetime and lifetime again. She trusted her father, and he feared her and that is why she is here, staring at her mother in a mirror.

_I love you, Azula. I do._

For some inexplicable reason, she remembers turtleducks and a gold ivory comb.

With a scream, she hurls her brush at the mirror.

* * *

For the first time in her life, the throne room blazes blue. She sits on the throne with the mantra repeating in her mind: _destroy your weakness, trust is for fools_. A Fire Lord who hopes to achieve great things cannot surround herself with treacherous servants.

The handmaidens try to choke her to death with cherries. No doubt ironic retribution for all the times she climbed trees and spat pits at them.

The Dai Li are late— scheming, no doubt. They have killed her before, and there is no reason they won’t try again.

Lo and Li are defiant old crones, sharing glances they think she does not notice. They have always been secretive, attempting to withhold secrets and power from her.

She never makes the same mistake twice. She banishes the traitors before they have the chance to depose her. She is weightless, untethered, purged and purified of weakness just as Ozai demanded.

(There is nothing but emptiness within her. She has prized the pieces of herself apart and cannot bring them crashing back together.

In a distant time and place, her father’s lips twist in a smile.)

* * *

While the Earth Kingdom burns, she faces her dear brother, and her world narrows into beautiful bursts of orange and blue. Oh, she will never tire of the Comet’s power singing through her veins. She flies forward in a fury, limbs jerking erratically like a marionette with broken strings.

A shame, that this is how it all has to end.

The crown is hers. She is the one reborn, born lucky. She has fought and suffered and died to claw her way to the throne. Zuko will not take this from her.

(It is all she has left.)

When her body slams against the ground, the wind is smashed from her lungs and pure rage floods her stomach. She will show him lightning!

Her eyes dart to the water peasant at the last moment, remembering. Zuko has brought a sentimental attachment. A weakness. A mistake.

She wonders if he loves her, this time around.

The lightning flies, crackling of ozone, and slams into Zuko’s chest. A laugh tears itself from her lips. He is a fool, he is weak. And she is free, and she is powerful.

(Azula lies to herself when the truth does not suit her.)

Then suddenly, she cannot breathe, she is drowning, she is chained. And at that moment, all illusions are stripped away. She has nothing and is nothing more than a failure, a weakling, a monster.

She screams until her throat is raw and bleeding and she has not even fire left.

The light of the comet fades and bleeds into the glow of sunrise.

* * *

She wakes when the sun is at its zenith. She feels Agni’s call in the warm rays on her skin. But when she tries to summon flame, there is only a ghostly emptiness.


	3. towards the sunrise

The room is perpetually cold. It chills her flesh and makes her sluggish. Even now, in her current state, they still fear her. She can still trace the sun’s path in the sky without looking, and something like an ember smolders in her core. If she tried with every last ounce of her strength to summon a flame, she might just do it. But she does not lift a finger.

(Even now, she is frightened of failure.)

* * *

The reality of her sorry existence has come crashing in on her like wave after wave of icy water. She is her father’s daughter: a prodigy, the Crown Princess, a conqueror of cities. And she has failed spectacularly, has been utterly humiliated. When the water peasant’s ice turned to water in her lungs, it snuffed out not only her flame but her willpower.

She has failed before, but those were temporary setbacks that forced her to eliminate weakness and hone her cunning. But there is no recovering from this. Her final lesson will be the crushing weight of worthlessness.

Still, her mind treads the same paths over and over again, revisiting every decision from every reiteration of her life that she can remember. It cannot help but do so. She has spent her whole existence scheming, plotting, and analyzing, so it seems impossible to stop now.

The voice in her head sounds so much like her father, some days, and it is acerbic and unforgiving in its dissection of her failures.

But she is acutely aware that her father must have failed if she is here and Zuko is on the throne, and so her father’s voice rings hollow.

* * *

She supposes, at some point, she stops speaking. She spends all her time and energy thinking, replaying events in her head. Words are a waste of effort. She has nothing much to say to the servants and caretakers who scurry about like roaches. They only care for her because Zuzu is soft and feels, she is sure, guilty. It is the reason that makes the most sense for his visits.

Mai never comes with him. It is somewhat of a disappointment. But she imagines they squabble about it, maybe even fight about it so fiercely that all the servants scurry to avoid them, and the vision gives her a petty flash of satisfaction.

She knows when he is coming because the strongest caretakers shackle her unresisting limbs into leather restraints. She assumes Mai suggested it because Mai is not a naïve fool like her brother. He sits at her bedside, sometimes silent and sometimes rambling about either their past or the nation’s future. Never about the present.

She should have left him in the caves underneath Ba Sing Se, but she was not lying when she told him that she needed him.

When Zuko returns time and time again, she knows he needs her.

* * *

There is, apparently, concern about her mental state and physical health. The only time she is not mute is when she wakes from a dream screaming, believing she is drowning or being buried alive. Mai no doubt glowered and called her a drama queen while Zuko sent for healers and physicians.

Her thin body is poked and prodded by men and women with narrow noses and watery eyes. They murmur even though she can still hear them and fill endless sheets of paper with their notes. The healers tilt cups against her lips, and one bitter liquid concoction after another trickles down her throat.

_My lord, we cannot pinpoint the source of her mental anguish._

Azula lets them do as they please, still devoting all her time and effort to her memory. What they do is beneath her, she reasons.

The voice that is both her father’s and her own keeps seething at her to break free, to burn them for their insolence. It is quite exhausting and hinders her introspection.

* * *

One sunny day, she finishes combing through the final reiteration of her life that she remembers. They are all catalogued and neatly filed away in her mind, and she feels empty, hollowed out. Her father’s voice rightly labels her a failure but is silent when she asks _what made me a failure?_ The need to find the answer consumes her and is the only thing left with any meaning.

_I am going to tell you a true story on two conditions: you treat me like I am sane, and you record every word._

Her voice is a rasp, rusty with disuse, and as a result, does not come out as commanding as she wanted. It is the first time she has spoken in months. The healer nearly jumps out of her skin, eyes wide as moons. This one is the most level-headed of all the fools Zuzu has shackled her with, so Azula supposes she will have to suffice. Thinking aloud may provide new insight.

_I do not like to repeat myself._

The healer rushes out and returns in record time, a sheaf of paper and a brush in hand. And Azula begins to recount the story of her life, again and again.

* * *

It is clear they think her mad, but she can’t bring herself to care about it. Or anything else, for that matter.

First, the mad princess goes mute and catatonic for months, and when she finally speaks again, it is with conviction about how she has been forced to live her life over and over, by spirits knows who. Their belief in her insanity adds a delicious level of fear and uncertainty in their eyes because she is _unhinged_ now. They are fools.

She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when they bind her up like a good little patient and Uncle walks through the door. He always was a spiritual man, willing to investigate and consider the impossible. She wishes they would leave her alone with her failures to waste away with the semblance of peace.

His face is lined with a pity she loathes and does not want.

(After all, he was the first one to call her crazy.)

_I have failed you, my niece._

Not for the first time. Her nostrils flare at the memory of the smell of ozone and smoking flesh. It is the only motion she permits herself as she lays perfectly still on the bed, eyes trained on the ceiling.

_It is no excuse, but you were a very difficult child to love._

(A monster, he means.)

_You were very much like your father. Because of that, I was blinded. I did not understand your scorn of weakness as fear of your own._

He wasn’t blind, she thinks. Not when he aimed for her heart with lightning, not when he saw her smiling at his grief, not when he sent her a doll and Zuko a knife.

_The story you tell reveals lightning within you. Two opposite halves separated, crashing back together. Now, you must choose where to direct it._

* * *

Iroh leaves. It clicks into place. She sees the full scope of her flaws.

( _I love you, Azula._ )

How has she never noticed it before? The greatest weakness can be transformed into the greatest strength. A teacup, crashing to the floor. A braid twined with pink, severed from the scalp. A glint of knives, _more than I fear you_.

* * *

Her body burns with fever, and she relishes the sensation.

(It reminds her of what it felt like to firebend.)

Dimly, she is aware of a flurry of motion at her bedside and hushed whispers. She has always gone down fighting, save for the one time she choked to death on her own blood and bile from poisoning. It is ironic to think that this will be the way she finally bites the dust, sweating out her bodyweight and burning.

Her dreams are vivid. Lu Ten and Ursa laugh while drinking tea, gesturing for her to join. But when she moves towards them, the world melts away into darkness. Ozai’s hands clamp down on her shoulders like the weights he used to make her wear during training. His hands burn hotter and hotter until her skin smokes, and when he finally lifts his hands, twin dragons burst from her smoldering wounds. They wrap their bodies around her, maws open to eat her alive, and she closes her eyes.

She opens them to see Ty Lee, dressed in dull and drab Earth Kingdom green. The familiar white makeup she now wears is somehow more garish than what she wore in the circus. How strange her hair looks, braided with green instead of pink.

(In a moment of clarity, she realizes there was another rule, never broken across each time loop:

Ty Lee always comes back to her.)

Azula does not know how to express guilt or remorse, so she settles for a hollow imitation of rage, which is familiar to her.

_I should have killed him, Ty. I should have at least tried._

She would have lost, but that doesn’t matter. It is the principal of the thing.

* * *

Two days later, Azula’s fever breaks. For the first time in her life, she turns sixteen.

* * *

_Don’t you want to know about Mother?_

She says it with a practiced air of indifference, and some dark, twisted part of her still enjoys the shocked, anguished expression that twists his features.

_Azula, what do you know?_

(Father is good at hiding his secrets, but Azula has lifetimes of practice at uncovering them.)

She has not heard this tone before, so fiery and commanding. It must be Zuzu’s newly minted _Fire Lord_ voice. Perhaps her dear brother has finally grown a spine.

Azula wants to feel the sunlight kissing her skin, to walk without three pairs of prying eyes on her, to regain her firebending. She wants to find their mother and see if she did inherit Ursa’s hair. She wants so badly to know if even monsters are capable of love that it overrides her fear of the answer. She _wants_ so badly she tastes smoke and ash on her tongue.

_You need me, Zuzu. Let’s make a deal…_

* * *

_I’m sorry I didn’t love you enough._

Rough, calloused fingers stroke her cheek, and Azula’s fingers are clawed and clutch at fabric.

( _Time and time again, Ursa leaves without so much as a goodbye._ )

She feels a scream ballooning in her chest and the desire to burn the whole hut to ash blooming in her stomach. But there is nothing but the scent of smoke in her nostrils. She uncurls her fist, dropping the woman who is her-mother-but-not-her-mother.

Her hair is as pitch black as Azula’s.

Wordlessly, Azula exits the dwelling. And then she runs, her feet flying across the dirt. She does not stop when Zuko calls and chases after her. Azula may be weak from months of captivity, but she is still the cleverer one.

They search the valley for weeks and never find her.

* * *

She makes her way north, as if the hollow ache in her chest will shrink the farther she travels. As if the distance between her and her mother’s horrific words increases, the less she will have to think about their meaning.

The wounding truth that her father has never loved her stings with the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, others might have loved her—that she is a thing capable of being loved.

Sleep is difficult, and not because of the hard earth. Visions of her mother, Zuko, and Ty Lee flicker behind her eyelids, and she often wakes drenched in sweat with the taste of smoke in her throat.

Her bones ache with the need to regain her firebending. She aches desperately for this missing piece of herself, for a semblance of control over her own body. And so, Azula runs from one answer by searching for another.

(Deep in the catacombs, she once read about an ancient civilization where they worshipped dragons, about whispers of their legacy. It is as good a lead as any.)

She travels away from the main road to avoid people. One look at her eyes and even a commoner could guess her identity. Though if she were to be honest with herself, the rest of her appearance probably did not scream royalty.

Her nails are cracked and caked with blood and dirt, her hair is long and unkempt, and her palms have finally callused after blistering over twice. What she wouldn’t give for a properly drawn bath and a meal of roast turtleduck. Her stomach growls in agreement.

She sets off to find dinner.

* * *

She assumes the ruins are abandoned and pays for her mistake.

After bandaging the gash on her arm, she moves onward. The numerous traps, carefully and cleverly laid, are a sign of life. When night falls, she lights a fire with flint and curls up on the stone. Her sleep is uneasy.

She wakes with spears at her back and fire in her face. Her golden eyes flash in defiance.

_Princess Azula. You come seeking knowledge. You are not the first._

Her uncle, then. She remembers Zuko’s uncharacteristic power and focus during their Agni Kai. Her brother, too. Her, now.

The Sun Warrior Chief is the only person she kneels before outside of the royal family. She says a prayer to Agni.

_Teach me the ways of fire._

* * *

Azula does not understand why the Sun Warriors spare her life. They have no use for her as a weapon as her father did and feel no guilt towards her as Zuko does. Regardless, she is not one to scorn good fortune; after all, she was the one born _lucky_.

The masters will only look upon her face if she brings them the eternal flame which, considering the sorry state of her firebending, is currently impossible. But feels the smoldering remnants of her firebending deep in her bones, so she bites back her acerbic remarks and does as she is told.

The days are long. She is expected to work alongside the rest of the village. They teach her how to complete basic tasks while having a laugh at her incompetence (what do they expect, from a _princess?_ ), and Azula bites her tongue until it bleeds. If nothing else, she bitterly understands the relationship between power and scorn, and knows that to lack the former is to receive the latter.

The Chief assigns Ham Ghao to train her, most likely because no one likes her much and no one likes Ham Ghao much more either. At least she is free to unleash her barbed tongue against him since he is generally scorned by the others. It is amusing, and a clever decision she might laugh at if Ham Ghao wasn’t so insufferable.

But he never strikes her and does not radiate monolithic disappointment when she falters during a form, so she supposes he has at least some redeemable qualities.

* * *

Azula sits lotus style on the cliffside and watches the sun set over the mountains, painting their rocky faces orange and pink.

The fantastical hope of ruling beside a loving father has evaporated, and with it the sheer willpower that once fueled her firebending. What could possibly replace a force so strong? The shadow of her former greatness lengthens, threatening to consume her.

She aches. It is as if someone has scraped out her innards, leaving her hollow. How empty the throne had been. How _lonely_.

( _You will be my fire lady—_ the echoes of a promise ring in her mind.)

And suddenly, desperately, Azula craves love, that paradoxical strength. She has no idea how it is earned— or if she can even earn it— but she supposes that forgiveness is a prerequisite. And forgiveness, she knows all too well, requires penance.

The fear and uncertainty are paralyzing, but cowardice is unbecoming of a princess. The singular hunger gnaws at her, begging to be fed.

* * *

It is when she masters the final form, the Dancing Dragon, that fire returns to her.

The flame that spurts from her fists is a sad, sputtering red.

Something untangles in her chest and she truly _breathes_ for the first time since the Agni Kai. The air is so sweet in her lungs, and she falls to her knees in relief.

* * *

She cradles the eternal flame in her palm because it is the most precious thing in her world.

Her body has strengthened from the months of manual labor, but the journey is still laborious. She is breathing heavily by the time she reaches the Cave of the Masters.

The Warrior’s chanting grows fainter with each step she ascends. When she reaches the platform, she kneels, stretches out her palms in offering, and waits for Ran and Shaw.

The dragons from her dreams burst from the caves with the wind roaring behind them. They are glorious and beautiful, bodies rippling with power. Though she believed the dragons dead, they soar above her.

Azula supposes this is another to add to the long list of ‘things she has been wrong about’.

She performs the Dancing Dragon for them flawlessly. There is no fear within her, only emptiness. When she finishes the set, she stares at their great, unblinking eyes.

A twister of fire roars around her, every color imaginable. Strands of her hair come free from her loose ponytail and whip so wildly around her face that her skin stings. Azula reaches out her hand and splits a stream of blue fire in two.

_Fire is life. And it is death. Two halves of one whole. A cycle._

It is simple and it is beautiful.

_I understand._

She opens her mouth and breathes fire.

* * *

It is uncharted territory, being eighteen.

_What comes next?_

What is the first step of being forgiven and loved? She does not know.

She thinks about cycles. She imagines the Avatar must feel crushed underneath the weight of all their previous lives. She has only ever lived hers, and the weight of it is suffocating.

She thinks about what has changed this time and what has stayed the same. Lu Ten is still dead, the Avatar still returned, and Zuko still bears an ugly scar. But Mother has returned, though different, and she is still alive.

She thinks about Ty Lee. Ty Lee who always leaves her and to returns her: a cycle of its own. Ty Lee who feared her and maybe loved her. Ty Lee has betrayed her only once.

(Azula has betrayed Ty Lee more than once. She is the person Azula has come closest to loving.)

Azula extinguishes the smoldering embers of the fire and rises with the morning's first light. She has decided what comes next.

* * *

As the sun rises every morning, she runs through the firebending forms. Her flames burn hotter and more efficiently. She relishes the feeling of her strengthening muscle and sinew rippling when she moves.

She thinks of Ran and Shaw’s multicolored fire. She is never one to half-ass things, let alone re-learning firebending from the masters.

(She is a prodigy, after all.)

When she passes through towns and cities, a ghost in the night, she hears people’s whispers. Deeply held resentment against the Fire Lord for capitulating to the Earth Kingdom’s demands about the colonies. Yu Dao has officially become a bastardized union of fire and earth and the Fire Lord is _entertaining_ the idea of bastardizing it even further. The nation needs a true ruler.

A New Ozai.

There are others who remain silent, whose shoulders are slumped and eyes weary. Tired of war, longing for peace.

* * *

Her gut twists with every minute that passes. To distract herself, she plays with the fire while she waits, turning the flames from orange to blue to green.

It had been easy enough to scope out the island and find Ty Lee’s house— though it was really more of a hovel, in Azula’s opinion. She had left the note, written in impeccable and unmistakable characters, telling Ty Lee where to find her. But she is unsure if the girl will show.

Because Azula had seen people’s decisions unfold time and time again, she had thought she understood how they worked. She can make no such assumptions now.

(She crumples facedown, body numb and buzzing with rage. Ty Lee’s face swims before her, uncertain one moment then resolute the next.)

She doesn’t hear their footsteps on the forest floor until it’s too late.

_Azula_.

The former princess is impressed. The Kyoshi Warriors have improved drastically— several of them surround her, fans and blades bared. In particular, Azula’s former favorite prisoner has leveled a katana a mere hairsbreadth from her neck.

Azula ignores the threat, knowing it will irk them, and leans forwards slowly until the cold metal point presses against the delicate skin of her throat.

She raises her gaze to see Ty Lee facing her, arms crossed. Azula is taken aback; it is easy, when traveling alone, to forget how much time has passed. Just as she has grown and changed in ways never before experienced, so has Ty Lee. Her grey eyes have darkened, as has her chestnut hair, which is pulled into that familiar braid. She has grown taller— if Azula were to stand, Ty Lee would perhaps have half a head on her— and her figure, Azula notes as her face flushes, is fuller.

Her face, covered in that wretched paint, is weary and forlorn.

_Ty Lee. You’ve grown._ Azula’s voice wavers slightly, and she curses herself for the weakness.

Ty Lee crouches across from her. _So have you, Princess. But you’re still just as bad at flirting._

* * *

_I fear myself because I am my father’s daughter. He rules through fear and has no use for love. Before I was a prodigy, I was an eager student. He taught me how to hurt and use intimidation as a weapon, that fire was destruction and should be used to purge weakness. Ozai is a better liar than I am._

_I have hurt you, time and time again I have always hurt you. The one time I tried to protect you and failed, I acted selfishly. It is my greatest regret. I was never capable of love, received or given, but I was so greedy for it. A princess expects to get what she desires._

_You learned to protect yourself from me with compliments and flippancy. I had convinced myself that you always returned to me, but now I understand that is because I have always forced your hand._

_You are the sole person to whom I have ever apologized. I see no reason to break tradition now. I do not expect you to continue your tradition of forgiving me. But there is an urgent Fire Nation matter I want to discuss, one that pertains to Zuko and Mai. Perhaps you have heard of the New Ozai Society…_

* * *

_She’s telling the truth._

Azula realizes that she has, yet again, underestimated Ty Lee. The woman is, of course, smarter than most people give her credit for, but more than that, she may be the most perceptive person in the four nations.

The other Kyoshi Warriors look uneasy at Ty Lee’s proclamation.

Was she telling the truth? Azula wasn’t quite sure herself. But Ty Lee had proclaimed it, so it must be true.

* * *

The journey back to the fire nation is awful. She is bound at the wrists and ankles with anti-bending cuffs and wakes up from nightmares thrashing. The boat is smaller and cruder than any Fire Nation Navy vessel she ever commanded, and it rocks horribly. Azula vomits at least four times a day. Ty Lee pulls back her hair every time. They stand together at the railing, watching the sun dip towards the sea’s horizon.

_I thought you were going to die. And then I thought maybe you had died. If you had lived, I figured more things in the world would be falling apart and exploding._

They share a dry laugh.

_Do you wish I had?_

A long pause. Azula can tell Ty Lee is resisting the urge to lie or deflect the question by bringing up some nonsense about auras.

_For a while, yes. Do you?_

_Not anymore. My nation needs me._

They both feel the weight of the words left unsaid, but Ty Lee doesn’t push further. Azula moves at her own pace, of her own accord.

* * *

Azula has always been good at hearing conversations she shouldn’t.

She was searching for Ty Lee, with the express purpose of pawning off her red bean bun— Ty Lee’s favorite— in exchange for something else. She didn’t need an excuse to see her childhood friend, but she supposed maybe Ty Lee needed an excuse to talk to the woman who had thrown her in prison once.

At any rate, she had quickly slunk back into the shadows when she heard Suki and Ty Lee in the middle of some sort of intense discussion.

_All I’m saying is be careful. She threw all of us in jail, and she can_ firebend _again._

_I know. I understand she’s a painful person to be around. I was on the receiving end of her cruelty for years._

_For multiple lifetimes, according to her delusions. Which makes it worse. And points to mental instability!_

_Suki, I know it’s hard to believe, but I do think she’s getting better. She doesn’t deserve your trust, but please listen to me. I’ve been your friend for almost five years now. I trusted you when you told me not to visit her after the war, and you were right. So please, trust me now._

_Alright. I trust you, Ty. But if she tries_ anything _, anything at all, I’ll do what needs to be done._

* * *

_Do you think I’m crazy?_ She asks when she’s finished retching.

(There are metal chains around her wrists. She breathes fire as tears stream down her face. A mirror shatters and her face stares back at her a hundredfold.)

_No._

Azula needs more convincing. Ty Lee must sense this as she smooths back Azula’s hair. The boat lurches, and Azula dry heaves again.

_I believe in things like auras and soulmates and destinies. I don’t think your story is a stretch. When you told me that you should have killed your father, I knew you believed it. I knew you were telling the truth._

Just like that. Ty Lee makes it seem so simple.

* * *

Her brother greets them with a stony face and a contingent of imperial firebenders. She’s mildly impressed. His face, while not unreadable to her, is certainly less open. He’s not as naïve as he used to be. All Mai’s influence, no doubt.

_Well, Zuzu, what a warm welcome. It’s good to see you too._

_Azula. Welcome back._

The guards take her roughly by the arms and escort her towards the prison tower.

_After you’re properly settled, we’ll talk._

She smiles at him, all sharp teeth, as they lead her away.

The same dragons’ blood sings in their veins. She needed him then, in Ba Sing Se, just as he needs her now.

* * *

Azula lays eyes on Mai for the first time in five years. Her apathy is replaced by antipathy. At a glance, her face appears detached and stoic. But Azula can see the hard glint like metal in her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders.

She does not ask for forgiveness she would not receive and neither deserves nor desires.

But Mai has chosen her lover over her family. And so, she listens to Azula’s proposal, searching for the lies that a surely interwoven throughout. Azula feels a great deal of smug satisfaction at Mai’s inability to find any.

* * *

Ukano’s men break her out as expected. The moment her chains are broken, she laughs wildly and lashes out with her legs, creating sweeping azure arcs.

She orders them to hold off the guards while she makes a detour. Her rescuers shift anxiously but ultimately decide that their chances are better if they listen to the powerful, half-mad princess. Smart men.

Even chained and without his bending, Ozai is still a formidable man. If he is surprised to see her, he does not show it.

She crouches down to his level. It hits her all at once— burning rage, gratification, a hollow ache. He sneers at her, laughing at the emotions so plainly written on her face.

( _You still cling to that which makes you weak._ )

* * *

They bow before her, welcoming their true Fire Lord. She sneers at them, these old foolish nobles with no spine and no vision. The torches flare blue.

Ukano repulses her the most. He is the opposite of his daughter where it counts the most; they are both shrewd, but his ambitions make him a toady who refuses to understand his place in the world. Few men are born to rule, and he refuses to accept that he is not one of them.

(There is an irony buried there.)

He wishes to use her, as a figurehead and as the most powerful firebender of their age. He grovels before her because he thinks she can be _molded_ to his cause. Ukano’s skill as a liar and manipulator pales next to that of Ozai’s.

Azula is no longer a weapon to be used by others.

* * *

She leads them like koala sheep to the slaughter, relishing the shock and fury on their faces when they realize their beloved princess has betrayed them. The would-be assassins are quickly subdued by the Kyoshi Warriors and Zuko’s personal guard. Ukano is arrested, foaming at the mouth for Mai to fulfill her filial duty and save him. Mai’s glare is as effective as any knife.

When she passes on her gathered intel about all the other nobles and military men involved in the New Ozai Society to Zuko and Mai, her brother gives her a genuine smile. Mai gives her a small nod. Not forgiveness, but respect. Azula begrudgingly decides that she can live with that. It is perhaps more than she deserves, and she knows where the power lies.

Mai kisses Zuko and leaves the room with a flourish of her dark robes. And she always said _Azula_ was the drama queen.

Zuzu pours them both a cup of tea and sighs. He has aged considerably. His smile is thin but hopeful.

_We have a lot to discuss._

* * *

Suki is almost as good at Mai at glowering. Her constant glaring is irritating, and Azula is already high strung enough as it is. Zuzu, the Avatar, and their little gang are meeting with Earth Kingdom representatives, arguing about what to do with her. She needs to take out her frustration on something.

Suki, apparently, feels the same because they end up sparring in a courtyard, no bending allowed. It easy to tell that her glorified babysitter has trained with Ty Lee—they telegraph in similar ways and share many signature moves. Like chi blocking.

Azula falls to her knees, legs unresponsive. Like a reflex, her face contorts in a snarl.

( _How dare she. How dare she touch her like this, betray her after all Azula has done for her—)_

The air crackles with tension. She forces herself to breathe deeply. Suki does not offer a hand. All the better, because Azula would not take it. After a few minutes, feeling returns to her legs—Suki is nowhere near as skilled as Ty Lee— and she forces herself into a kneeling position.

_Go on, strike me._ Her voice is level. _We both know you want to._

For one moment, she thinks Suki just might. But then the moment passes, and Suki unclenches her fists and turns away.

* * *

Ty Lee recounts the day’s events to her while they sit, plucking cherries from the branches overhead. The council seems to be evenly split between rehabilitating her quietly in the Fire Nation or putting her on trial in Ba Sing Se, which does not surprise Azula.

Zuko is her main advocate, and to her surprise, Mai has been backing him. Toph seemed indifferent at first but slowly shifted to Zuko’s side. ( _What? I can respect someone that ballsy, even if she_ did _try to kill us._ ) The water peasants are predictably vocal about her facing her crimes, as are the representatives. Aang is decidedly neutral.

She supposes there would be a sort of poetic justice to a trial and mobs swarming her with stones.

_I told them you weren’t always cruel._

Ty Lee gestures to her costume.

_I got a second chance. Zuko and Mai too. The whole Fire Nation has a second chance now._

Azula is silent. She has lost exact count, but she has certainly had more than two chances.

Hesitantly, Ty Lee takes her calloused hands and holds them in hers, startling Azula. She is aware of the earnestness of the Warrior’s gaze but cannot bring herself to look back. She stares at her hands, cradled in Ty Lee’s.

_I know I’m not the only_ me _you’ve ever known. But you’re the only Azula I’ve ever known._

* * *

_Avatar_.

He bows fire nation style, open palm against a fist. She returns the gesture, and if her bow is a little shallow, he doesn’t comment. His posture is open and relaxed, but his eyes are guarded. She wonders if the scar on his back ever twinges with phantom pains.

_Do you ever feel trapped by your past?_

( _Does the weight of your previous incarnations ever threaten to suffocate you?_ )

He gives her a long look before turning away to look out over the balcony. Below them, servants bustle and scurry about, their arms laden with trays of food.

_Sometimes._ He bows his head in admission. _But having friends and loved ones to ground me helps._

_How quaint._ Her veneer of snide bitterness cracks, revealing a deep longing and jealousy.

The Avatar turns back to her. His wide grey eyes have softened, and he smiles widely.

_The Avatar is not all that I am. A princess is not all that you are._

* * *

In the end, Azula’s instrumental role in destroying the New Ozai society is deemed convincing enough evidence of her changing heart. The water peasants’ glares make it clear that not everyone is convinced. She gives them a wolfish smile, hoping it will instill a paranoia that keeps them up at night.

She is to stay with Zuko at the palace under strict supervision. He radiates hopefulness and it is nauseating. She wills it not to be contagious.

Her wariness of hope proves rational when Ty Lee informs her that the Kyoshi Warriors will be leaving on a mission.

_I’ll write to you and make sure to visit when everything settles down._

Azula nods, her face stretched thin by the smile she plasters on. The ghosts of burn scars prickle the skin of her abdomen. She is no stranger to the fact that some wounds take longer to heal than others.

* * *

_I couldn’t protect both of you. I’m sorry._

Though Azula will never admit it aloud, she knows how deeply that kind of failure cuts.

_I never needed your protection._ The words ring hollow.

_A child needs and deserves a mother’s protection and love._

It takes every ounce of her willpower not to run this time.

* * *

_You came back._

(This time, it is not because of fear.)

_Of course I did, silly. Did you get my letters?_

Ty Lee eagerly grabs Azula’s hands, like it is the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes shine in the noonday sunlight.

_Yes. They were… enlightening. Though I still fail to see how one would subdue an armadillo bear single-handedly._

_You learn unexpected things at the circus!_

As they make their way towards the palace, Azula listens pensively to Ty Lee’s increasingly wild stories, occasionally interjecting with a question or a hum of assent. She wonders if this is what forgiveness looks like, and hope swells in her chest.

* * *

As it turns out, she is very good at military tactics and less so at peasantry matters. Perhaps because peasant affairs are utterly beneath her.

Azula scowls at the sheets of paper in front of her. In _theory,_ settling a dispute about farm boundaries is crucial to the smooth functioning of their society. In reality, it is frustrating because Zuko will not approve if she decrees that the farmers should fight to the death, winner-take-all. And if Zuko does approve of her behavior, then the Avatar himself will probably materialize in her chambers and smite her.

_Let me help!_ Ty Lee smiles and settles behind her. She rests her hands on Azula’s shoulders, and Azula feels her body twist and tense in dread. The pressure disappears.

_Sorry, Azula—_

_No. It’s not your fault. You may continue._

Ty Lee tentatively begins anew and rubs out the knots in her shoulders. Unfortunately, the peasant situation seems no clearer.

_It reminds me of having to share with my sisters. You just have to placate everyone by making them think they’re getting a better deal than the other person._

The problem is, Azula has never had to _placate_ anyone beneath her during her many years of existence. People were supposed to placate her. How was she supposed to know what would placate a peasant?

Ty Lee smiles as if she knows exactly what Azula is thinking. She picks up Azula’s brush and kisses her lightly on the cheek.

_Here, let me show you._

* * *

_She cares about you, spirits know why. If you ever lay a finger on her, I will go Suki-State on you._

She snorts. Suki always thinks her wordplays and nicknames clever despite all evidence to the contrary.

Deeper down, Azula bristles at the statement.

(Ozai’s knuckles are white against Ursa’s skin, tendrils of delicate smoke twining in the air. Ty Lee balances precariously above a burning net.)

She will be more than her father’s daughter. ~~~~

* * *

_Thanks for the assist, Princess._

(Her searing blue flames send men rolling. It makes her blood sing. To her left, Chief Beifong’s metal whips hiss through the air and crack ruthlessly against flesh.)

Zuzu and Ty Lee may have deemed her domesticated, but there is still nothing quite like the thrill of combat.

She shrugs and juggles a flame in her palm, as if helping the World’s Greatest Earthbender take down the greatest crime syndicate in Republic City doesn’t rank as the second most exciting thing she’s done in recent memory. Coming in only behind Ty Lee, of course.

Beifong leans back in her chair and sets her feet on the table. She picks up the sphere of meteorite metal from her desk and morphs it into various shapes.

_Listen, there’s a new Fire Nation restaurant in town. They have cute waiters. Bring Sugarcakes and we’ll celebrate a job well done. You can bitch about how inauthentic the food is and make the owner piss his pants._

Azula can’t help but smile. Toph Beifong always knows how to make an offer she can’t refuse.

* * *

The ordeal of childbirth is much too complicated and messy for her tastes. She tells Ty Lee this while they listen to their childhood friend hiss during labor. Mai has a high threshold for pain and a low tolerance for emotional expression. Birth is no exception.

_Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?_

_Whatever it is, it’s certainly taking its time._

Azula waits for the inevitable follow-up question.

_Do you want to have kids?_

Azula turns her head to stare at her longtime friend turned enemy, turned lover. Her own various childhoods feel distant, as if the memories lie across some great chasm in her mind. She was very rarely allowed to be a child.

_I am content to settle on Aunt, for now. If that doesn’t go horrifically wrong, then perhaps one day._

Ty Lee squeezes her hand in understanding.

When they are finally allowed in the room, Mai informs them dryly that Zuko fainted during her time of great need and had to be revived with smelling salts. Zuzu is so intently focused on the child in his wife’s arms that he doesn’t even notice the gibe.

Ty Lee gasps and coos at the newborn. _Izumi._ Azula keeps a respectful distance. Small creatures are not her strong suit.

Izumi is passed around the room, like a tiny knick-knack. When it is Azula’s turn to hold her, she hesitates. Zuko gives her a smile that is supposed to be encouraging, but she finds it patronizing and scowls at him. Ty Lee patiently coaches her on how to hold the baby, then places Izumi in her arms.

She squints down at the tiny thing in her arms. Golden eyes peer back at her, and the warmth of Izumi’s fire burns softly and steadily.

* * *

She finishes reading the legislation. It will end mandatory conscription and raise the age of military enrollment. She feels a pain in her gut when she thinks of the Fire Nation’s mighty army and navy. But then she thinks of her father, sitting on the throne while he sent his children to search for the Avatar and conquer cities, and of how small Izumi felt in her arms. The pain is replaced with pride.

Zuko smiles warmly at her and leans back. Their cups of tea are stone cold.

_We make a good team, Azula._

She sighs and studies her nails—they’re getting long. She will find a servant to file them after this.

_That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time, dear Zuzu._

He laughs. The twinkle in his eye makes him look like Uncle. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle and curious, but cautious.

_I’d like to hear about your journeys. All of them._

She considers this. She supposes the night is still young.

_On one condition. You tell me about your failed journey to recover the Avatar._

He scowls, looking for a moment so much like he did during the war, and playfully punches her shoulder. She laughs and finds the sound isn’t as unnerving or unnatural as it used to be.

* * *

The celebration commemorating Zuko’s fifteenth year as Fire Lord is a grand affair. Azula is dressed in her royal armor and stands stiffly and proudly to the side, exchanging pleasantries with various generals and officials. When the dancing begins, she manages to find reprieve on the balcony, staring at the night sky, nursing a drink, and wondering when assassins will show up.

_I’ve heard so many rumors tonight about why you’re still not married. I’m mildly insulted that I only featured in three of them._

She turns to see Ty Lee smiling at her, dressed in flowing pink, her midriff bare.

_You’re not in your drab Earth Kingdom getup._ Azula meant for the words to come out in a lazy drawl, but the alcohol makes them a quick and jumbled mess.

_I’m retiring._

_I see. And what comes next? Surely not the circus again._ Her lip curls in distaste—an old habit.

Ty Lee laughs and loops her arm through Azula’s. She kisses Azula’s temple, and Azula is silently grateful for the darkness because she feels her face flush as red as her armor.

_Zuko asked me to be one of Izumi’s dedicated bodyguards. I accepted._

_Oh._ She thinks of seeing Ty Lee every day instead of once every few months, and her heart feels light. _I’m glad._ And then— _are all the arrangements finalized?_

_Almost. I just needed to ask if you—_

_Ty Lee, I find this superfluous. You may share my quarters. You do it every time you visit the palace and sneaking around the palace like a child is beneath the woman I—_

She is cut off by a very long, impassioned kiss. Ty Lee’s entire body is shaking with giggles when they break apart, and tears of laughter shine in her eyes.

_That wasn’t what I was going to ask, ‘Zula. But thank you for your generosity._

Azula is thankfully saved from her overwhelming humiliation by the sound of breaking glass and shouts from inside. Assassins always have impeccable timing.

* * *

The last time Azula visits Ozai, she sees him for who he is. Hunched in the corner, her father has always been a bitter and violent man. The only reason he is alive is because he clings to life out of spite.

Though she knows this, she feels something akin to grief. She sacrificed herself to save him, once upon a time. He deserved no such thing, she realizes now. She used to be angry that the Avatar showed him mercy, but she sees him sulking in chains and knows it eats at him. It is a fitting punishment.

Without saying a word, she turns and leaves him in the darkness.

* * *

_Auntie Azula, is it true that you went crazy? Mommy said you kept talking about things that never happened._

The only thing Azula loathes more than being called crazy is being interrupted while practicing her firebending sets. But she supposes Izumi is still too young to understand those things, so she may be excused for her ignorance. Azula finishes the form and then turns to look at her niece, who just yesterday burnt down a priceless tapestry.

_I was never crazy, Izu. I merely remember more things than most people._

Izumi pouts, a skeptic.

_Auntie Ty said you tell her all the time about things she did in past lives. I wanna hear about me and what I did!_

Azula squints down at her niece. _Unfortunately, in the past, I always died before you were born. As a result, you didn’t exist, and thus, I have no memories of a previous you._

Izumi stomps her foot. _That’s not fair!_

_Hm. I suppose it isn’t. But we can make new memories together. Would you like me to teach you how to juggle fire?_

Izumi’s eyes light up, and she nods enthusiastically as Azula summons a purple flame.

* * *

Azula wakes with the sunrise. Ty Lee does not.

She shifts to look at Ty Lee, whose nose is crinkled, which means she is dreaming something nice. She brushes back a strand of chestnut hair, savoring the fact that she is the only one who sees Ty Lee with her hair down.

These days, she tends not to talk or think about the past unless Ty Lee asks to hear a specific story. The present is enough for her now.

Azula still does not think there is any rhyme or reason as to why she lived her life so many times over. She is not certain there was ever a sense in the suffering. But she is glad that her life has culminated in something like this.

Ty Lee stirs, opening one bleary eye and smiling when she sees Azula staring fondly at her. She snuggles close, curling her body against the princess’ before promptly falling back asleep. The years have turned her into a slower riser than she used to be. Today, Azula feels no desire to speed things along; she has earned her share of lazy mornings.

Azula closes her eyes and, with Ty Lee warm in her arms and a fire in her chest, is content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gf insisted on a happy lesbian ending so here we are :) Thank you for reading, and I hope it was an enjoyable ride!


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